08 October 2009
Today I saw the doctor. Next week I see my gynecologist again. My fingers are still crossed: I hope to get the "all clear" signal. To do what, you ask? Well, to ride my bike and have sex. And, possibly, to do some heavier lifting, though I'm in no hurry to do that.
If I do any or all of those things, my lack of physical activity for the past three months will be evident. I thought about that today as I was walking around in Chelsea and the Village after seeing my doctor and before I went to the college.
I feel so flabby. But people--including my doctor as well as a waiter (whom I'd never before met) in the Turkish restaurant where I had lunch--told me I looked "really nice." Actually, I'm noticing the flab just now. But I actually was feeling pretty good about the way I looked. I wore a boat-necked purple blouse under a long navy cardigan and an A-line skirt in a houndstooth pattern of blue and gray. Hal, the dreadlocked mechanic at Bicycle Habitat, half-jokingly said that my outfit matched my Mercian perfectly.
It was the first time I'd seen him since a few weeks before my surgery. He says he's just bought a house in the neighborhood where he grew up. But nobody he knew in those days is there now, he says.
I know that neighborhood. It's right next to the one where I grew up--and Prospect Park, where I rode almost every day for years.
How many more days until I can ride it again? Eight, if all goes well. But I wonder how far I'll go. Well, I guess no one has to worry that I'll run away from home on my bike. As if I were going to do that at this point in my life, anyway!